


connect the dots, baby!

by rowenabane



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Conspiracy Theories, Doyoung best bro, Humor, Johnny is a Buzzfeed Unsolved stan, M/M, Misunderstandings, Neighbors, Serial Killers, Strangers to Lovers, and they were neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenabane/pseuds/rowenabane
Summary: It takes Johnny approximately ten minutes to come up with The Plan.The Plan looks a little like this:1. Call the police and tell them your hot new neighbor kills people2. Police find no evidence and said neighbor gets upset at you3. You get killed by your hot new neighbor for snitching4. Doyoung mocks you at your funeralJohnny scratches the back of his head. Huh.
Relationships: Suh Youngho | Johnny/Qian Kun
Comments: 33
Kudos: 315
Collections: Johnkun Fic Fest Round 1 (2020)





	connect the dots, baby!

**Author's Note:**

> #H050 for JKFF! I had a lot of fun writing this fic and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! Thank you!  
> (sorry this is not beta'd we die like men}

As far as new neighbors go, the man moving into the apartment next door doesn’t seem like anything special. Johnny watches him carry boxes from his car and up the stairs, passing by his window every time he does. He seems normal enough, and Johnny sighs. Normal is good.

“Who is that?” Doyoung asks, pushing Johnny aside to look out the window. “Is he your new neighbor?”

“No,” Johnny says, pushing _him_ aside instead. “He’s just moving in for fun. Of _course_ he’s my new neighbor.”

Doyoung smiles at him like a proud mother, pinching his cheek. “You’ve finally learned the art of sarcasm. I’m so proud.”

“Go back to your own apartment, asshole,” Johnny grumbles. He pulls back from the window as the man walks by again, and Johnny can hear him humming softly through the cracked window glass. His brown hair catches the sunlight as he walks by, and even though he seems to be drowning in his extra-large T-shirt Johnny can see the way his arms flex around the box he’s holding. Hm.

“Are you going to keep staring like a creep, or are you going to say hi?”

“What are you even doing here?” Johnny asks crossly, knowing damn well he invited Doyoung over just so he would see Johnny’s sink full of dirty dishes and take pity on him. The man vanishes into his apartment next door.

Doyoung slides a plate into the cabinet, giving Johnny a smile that he translates into utter annoyance. “I wouldn’t be over here so often if you actually knew how to live like a normal human being.”

The man comes out of his apartment again, passing by Johnny’s window and running down the flight of stairs to the parking lot. 

“Do you think he needs help?” Johnny asks Doyoung, watching the man struggle to pull a box out of his trunk. The man’s face scrunches up in concentration and he puts his hands on his hips. 

“I’m gonna go help him,” Johnny says, just as Doyoung mumbles _of course you are, you model citizen_.

Johnny pushes the window up, the frame creaking dangerously. He sticks his head out the window, looking down at the parking lot. “Hey,” he yells. The man looks up at him, holding a hand over his eyes to block the sun. “Do you need help?”

Even from here, Johnny can see the man’s wide smile, the crinkle at the ends of his eyes. 

“If it's not too much trouble,” the man says, his voice carrying all the way from the ground to Johnny’s second-floor apartment. The sound is surprisingly rich, as if he has trained his voice to carry itself on the wind like an entity of its own. “I would really appreciate it!”

Doyoung snickers as Johnny almost trips over his own feet to pull the door open and run down the stairs to the parking lot.

The man smiles at him as he gets closer. “I’m Kun,” he says brightly. “Thanks so much for your help.”

“No problem,” Johnny says, pulling the box out of Kun’s trunk. It’s heavy, even for him, and he lets out a muffled _oof_ as he hefts it into his arms. “Whew! What have you got in here? A dead body?”

Kun lets out a little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, no, it's nothing like that.”

Johnny attempts to shrug and then realizes his shoulder is nearly falling out of his socket. He lets Kun walk up the stairs ahead of him, struggling with the weight of the box as he slides a foot up the steps. 

“You never told me your name,” Kun says, giving him a concerned look as he pants. 

“Oh, I’m Johnny,” he says. He places the box in front of Kun’s door. “I’m your next door neighbor.”

“I’ve noticed,” Kun says. He smiles again, and Johnny has to will every muscle in his body to remain perfectly still lest he fall to his knees and ask Kun how he likes his eggs in the morning. “It's been really nice meeting you!”

“Yeah,” Johnny says back, hoping that he somehow oozes charm and charisma rather than just sweat. “See you around!”

Kun goes into his apartment and closes the door gently behind him, waving one last time. Johnny waves back, hoping that his face does not currently look as red as he suspects it is.

Doyoung sticks his head out the window. “Are you done pretending to be Superman? I’m not going to clean your entire apartment, you know.”

Johnny sighs and goes back inside. 

…

The window remains cracked open even at night, propped open by a tattered copy of the city phone book that Johnny never uses for anything more than a paperweight or the aforementioned window prop. Someone outside curses softly and Johnny looks up from his laptop. There's a thud and Johnny stands up, going to the window.

“Hey,” Johnny says, pushing the window open. Kun is dragging a heavy suitcase through his doorway, the side of it hitting Johnny’s door hard enough to make the hinges rattle. “Do you need help?”

“I’m good,” Kun says, taking a deep breath before smiling. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

Johnny shrugs and closes the window, going back to his laptop. He forgot to pause the episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved, and now has no reference for what’s happening. Just as he sits down he hears another heavy thud and an exasperated gasp.

Back to the window, he supposes. He looks out, about to pull the window back open, until he sees Kun in the parking lot with his suitcase lying open at his feet. He’s shoving something inside, frantic.

Johnny squints and then pushes himself away from the window. He can't be 100% sure, but he’s at least 90% sure that there are bones littering the asphalt.

He looks out the window again, kneeling so that he can't be seen from the street below. Kun picks up something long and white and shoves it into the suitcase, shaking his head. Johnny has watched enough television to know what a femur looks like, even if he did fail college biology.

Kun pushes the suitcase shut and shoves it in his trunk. He gets in the car and drives away, headlights vanishing down the road.

…

“What are you doing right now,” Johnny hurriedly whispers into his phone. “Can you come over? Like right now?”

Doyoung sighs from the other end of the line. “It's almost 11 pm,” he says. “What do you want?”

“You are not gonna believe what I just saw,” Johnny whispers, looking out the window. Kun still hasn’t returned. It doesn’t take much for Johnny to imagine where he is: probably a river, or somewhere in a forest, burying his last victim.

“You’re right,” Doyoung says. “But you’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?”

“Do you remember my new neighbor?”

“The one you were practically salivating over?”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Yes, that one.”

“What about him?” Doyoung says calmly. Johnny can hear running water in the background. 

“I think he’s a murderer,” Johnny whispers, peering over the windowsill. Kun still hasn’t returned.

Silence. 

“Are we going to do this again,” Doyoung says exasperatedly. “That’s what you said about your last neighbor too. The whole, ‘oh no, he’s gonna kill me,’ etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”

“That was different,” Johnny says. “I had just watched Silence of the Lambs! And you can't tell me there wasn't an uncommon amount of screaming going on over there!” 

“Are you watching those true crime documentaries again?”

“Bones!” Johnny whisper-yells into the phone. “He had a suitcase full of bones! I saw it!”

“Are you sure it was bones?” Doyoung asks, sighing again. “And not, say, something wrapped in paper, giving it the chalky white appearance of a human bone?”

“You’re the one who wears glasses,” Johnny says. “I _know_ what I saw.”

“Okay, whatever. I’m gonna take a bath, goodnight.”

“Wait!” Johnny says, peering over the windowsill again. Kun’s car is pulling back into the parking lot, the headlights like yellow cat’s eyes among the shadows. The single streetlamp competes weakly with the darkness and comes out on the losing end.

Doyoung hangs up, and Johnny looks out the window to see Kun pulling the suitcase out of his trunk. It seems considerably lighter now, and he hefts it with relative ease. 

Johnny reaches over and turns off the light, watching Kun carry the suitcase up the stairs and to his apartment. Soundlessly, wordlessly, he disappears inside.

…

It takes Johnny approximately ten minutes to come up with The Plan. 

The Plan looks a little like this:

  1. Call the police and tell them your hot new neighbor kills people
  2. Police find no evidence and said neighbor gets upset at you
  3. You get killed by your hot new neighbor for snitching
  4. Doyoung mocks you at your funeral 



Johnny scratches the back of his head. Huh. 

He grabs a napkin and a pen and begins drafting The Plan Part Two, which takes him less than a minute to write and looks something like this:

  1. Tell your hot new neighbor you think he’s a murderer
  2. Get immediately murdered
  3. Doyoung mocks you at your funeral



Well, that’s not going to work. Johnny balls up the napkin and throws it into the trash. 

He goes to bed and stares at the ceiling for what seems like hours, thinking. What would Clarice Starling do? Sherlock Holmes? Shane and Ryan?

Well, he knows exactly what Johnny Suh is going to do. Good old Johnny Suh is going to go to sleep and pretend nothing ever happened.

…

“I always knew you were gonna lose your mind one of these days,” Doyoung says as he pushes open Johnny’s front door. “That’s just how writers are.”

“I resent that statement,” Johnny grumbles as he scrubs at the kitchen counter. Doyoung raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you...cleaning? On your own?”

“I’m not a pig,” Johnny mutters. The door closes softly, and the half-open window lets in a humid breeze. He drops his voice to a whisper. “I haven’t seen Kun since last night,” he says quietly as if Kun could somehow hear him. 

“He just moved in,” Doyoung says, dropping onto Johnny’s sofa. “He’s probably got tons of stuff to do inside his apartment that is _none of your business.”_

“Sure,” Johnny says doubtfully. “Okay.”

…

Johnny’s sleep schedule is absolute shit anyway, so here’s what he observes: Kun is practically nocturnal. He leaves his apartment in the evenings and returns sometime in the early morning, always quiet. During the day Johnny doesn't hear a single thing from his apartment next door, and the silence unnerves him. Maybe he’s just gotten too used to noisy neighbors banging on the walls, but something about a man that only leaves after the sun is down makes him nervous.

Oh, and bones. There’s something about a man with a suitcase full of bones that makes him nervous too.

Nothing happens for days. Kun comes and goes just like anyone else, and soon Johnny finds himself going to bed earlier, closing the blinds. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was mistaken.

He’s up late one night when he hears keys jangling outside the window. Kun's silhouette moves outside the blinds, all shadows from the streetlamp below. Johnny goes to the window, curious. Kun has just dropped his keys, it seems. Nothing strange or unusual.

While Johnny watches Kun picks up his keys and stands, pausing. He turns to look behind him at some noise in the distance, his jacket falling off his shoulder. The light from the lamp falls on him perfectly, illuminating his creased eyebrows, soft profile, and very bloody shirt.

Johnny gasps, ducking out of view as Kun turns back around with his key in his hand. As Kun passes Johnny looks up over the edge of the window, view partially blocked by the blinds. Yep. That’s blood. 

Kun looks over his shoulder again before closing the door behind him, soundless and discreet.

…

“God, Johnny, it’s five in the morning. What do you want?”

Johnny clutches his phone to his ear. “Kun just came back.”

Doyoung sighs. “He lives there, Johnny. Of _course_ he came back.”

“Doyoung, he was covered in blood! Tell me now that he isn’t a serial killer.”

Doyoung is silent on the other end. “Go to _sleep_ , man.”

“I am not hallucinating! The man had blood all down the front of his shirt!”

“It’s dark out,” Doyoung groans. “Are you sure it was blood? It could’ve been paint, or a drink, or even the pattern on his shirt. It may look like blood to your sleep-deprived ass, but I can guarantee it wasn’t.”

“It was blood!” Johnny whispers furiously. “I know it!”

“Maybe he had a nosebleed,” Doyoung says dryly. “Who knows. If you call me at 5 am for anything other than the threat of imminent death I will kick your ass. Good night.”

He hangs up.

Johnny stares at his phone. “Good morning,” he grumbles.

Imminent death. Well, it's certainly more likely now than it was before Kun moved in next door.

…

“You are _not_ crazy,” Johnny mutters to himself as he pulls the blinds closed. The window is cracked open at the bottom, just enough to let in a small, quiet wisp of wind. “You are _very_ not crazy. Doyoung is just an _idiot, you_ are not crazy.”

To be very honest, he doesn’t really have a bedtime. He just goes to bed whenever he decides it's time to pass out in preparation for the day ahead, which is usually somewhere between 1 and 2 in the morning. When it is already the day ahead. 

Not tonight, though. Tonight he sits at the kitchen table with his eye trained on the window, light filtering through the closed blinds. If anyone walks by he could see their shadow from the streetlamp below.

The open Word document on his computer is the only light in the darkened kitchen, and he stares at the blank page, cursor blinking slowly. He writes a sentence and deletes it, then writes it again. He stares at it, nodding, and then opens up YouTube.

He’s halfway through the third season of Buzzfeed Unsolved when he sees a vaguely human-shaped shadow walk past the window. He gets out of his chair, ducking under the window and peeling back the blinds. Kun is there, along with someone else—a man Johnny has never seen before. He’s short, dark hair tousled all across his face in a way that looks artful on him but would probably just be messy on anyone else. Little shapes cut from silver are studded all along his ear, glinting in the white of the street lamp.

The man with the earrings is talking in a low, animated whisper, his words lost to the night. Kun smiles and says something back, unlocking the door. They both vanish inside Kun’s apartment, and Johnny hears voices from the other side of the wall, muted.

Nothing _too_ strange. Nothing _too_ strange about having someone over at four in the morning.

Johnny goes back to his computer, opens his Word doc, and begins to write again. He has maybe a paragraph staring back at him, underwhelming and disappointing. He deletes it and starts over, exhaustion pulling his eyelids down. He briefly wonders if he should make coffee. It's technically morning already, which is when people usually have coffee, so it shouldn't be that bad, right?

He rubs at his eyes, tired mind saying _fuck it!_ as he closes his eyes and drags himself to bed. Why did he even stay up? What was the point—

Just as Johnny enters his room, the very _second_ he steps through the doorway, he hears a bloodcurdling scream from next door.

Silence follows, as solid as a lead weight. Johnny stands rooted to the spot, his feet becoming one with the floor.

No voices.

“Maybe he’s watching a movie,” Johnny murmurs to himself, not moving from the doorway. He squints at the wall as if doing so will suddenly endow him with the ability to see right through the brick. He doesn’t hear anything else, even as he vainly tries to convince himself that maybe he was imagining things.

He turns around and walks back into the kitchen. Maybe he _will_ make himself a cup of coffee.

…

“Listen, he comes home at 4 am with this dude that looks like he just came straight from the club and later I hear screaming! Tell me that isn't suspicious. You can't!”

“How many episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved did you watch last night?” 

Johnny pauses. He can hear running water and clanking plates as Doyoung washes dishes on the other end. “That’s not important! I never saw the guy leave, Doyoung!”

The running water cuts off. “Did you sleep at _all_ last night?”

Johnny considers lying. “Of course I did!”

“No you didn’t, you liar.”

Johnny can’t argue with that one. “Kun probably just pulled a Jeffrey Dahmer and you are criticizing my sleep schedule. I think we have bigger problems to worry about!”

“I’m muting you.”

“Doyoung, listen, I know I heard someone scream. I also know that this dude never left. I may be sleep deprived but I’m not stupid!”

“Still muting you.”

“Doyoung!” Johnny yells into the phone. “You better not—”

“Just ask the guy what he was doing last night.” Doyoung sighs. “Easy.”

Johnny stares at his phone as if he can project the absolute stupidity of that statement right into Doyoung’s brain. “Do you _want_ me to die?”

“Sometimes!” Doyoung says cheerily. “Have a good day!”

The phone clicks. 

“I hate you!” Johnny yells at his blank screen. He huffs, knowing that Doyoung is probably ignoring his current crisis to make his bed or some other stupidly mundane morning task.

The apartment next door is quiet. He hasn't heard anything since last night—no music, no television, no voices. It unnerves him, even though it is nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe that’s why he feels so unsettled: if there were two people in the apartment, someone would be talking.

Nothing but silence. Johnny plugs in his speaker and loud pop music swells through the kitchen. There. Much better. 

…

“Hi!” Johnny whispers brightly to himself, clutching a glass pan of brownies in his hands. “How are you? Just wanted to know how you're doing, haha, kill anyone lately?”

He shakes his head. The pan of brownies is getting cold as he stands outside Kun’s door, warring with himself as to whether he should knock or not.

Here’s The Plan: 

  1. Give Kun brownies
  2. Ask how he’s doing
  3. Try to ascertain if there are any murder victims in the area
  4. Leave Immediately



Johnny sends a quick prayer up to whatever deity is on duty today and knocks on the door.

Silence, and then a solid _thump_ somewhere beyond the door. Johnny freezes, hand hovering in the air. 

“Just a second!” Kun calls out, voice muffled. There’s a click as the door unlocks and is pulled open, Kun peering up at him. His hair sticks up a little on the side of his face, as if he has just woken up, and his shirt is several sizes too large. He blinks slowly at Johnny, gears turning. He blinks a couple more times and then smiles brightly when he finally recognizes him.

“Oh, Johnny, hi!” He says, opening the door a bit more. “I wasn't expecting you!”

If Johnny didn't have bones he would be the world’s stupidest car-dealership inflatable. He smiles back, holding out the tray of brownies. “I made these for you,” he says quickly, watching the way Kun’s shirt slips over his collarbone. “As a, uh, housewarming gift.”

Kun raises an eyebrow. “Really?” he says softly, accepting the pan. A tiny, fond smile ghosts over his lips. “I really appreciate it.”

_Don’t fuck it up Suh don’t fuck it up!_

“Where are my manners,” Kun says suddenly, opening the door wide. “Would you like to come in?”

Johnny’s mind screeches to a halt. “Um, sure,” he says, stepping awkwardly inside. All the curtains are drawn and the apartment is bathed in shadow. 

“It's a bit of a mess,” Kun says, throwing open a curtain. The sudden light reveals the exact opposite: Kun’s apartment is stunningly clean and homey, unlike the mess that Johnny’s been living in. He can only imagine Doyoung telling him to take notes. Kun hides a yawn behind his hand as he puts the brownies on his kitchen counter. 

“Did I come at a bad time?” Johnny asks, looking down the narrow hallway. It seems like Kun is alone. “You seem tired.”

“Oh, no,” Kun says. “Well, a little tired,” he admits. “Work and stuff.”

“Do you have a lot of visitors?” Johnny blurts out. 

Kun shakes his head. “Not really,” he says. “It's just me. Why do you ask?”

_Johnny Suh, murdered in his own apartment last night. Police are baffled…_

“Oh, just asking!” Johnny says cheerfully as his brain plays the inevitable true crime segment on his own death. “I have to go!”

Kun smiles, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He even has nice _eyebrows_. Johnny hates it here.

“Have a good day,” Kun says, holding the door open. “See you around!”

Johnny almost trips over his own feet as he walks out the door and back into his own apartment.

…

“So you gave him a dish full of dry ass Martha Stewart brownies to get into his apartment?” Doyoung shakes his head. “What, did you expect him to have a head hanging over his door like a horseshoe?”

“The brownies were actually kind of nice,” Johnny argues. “I put extra chocolate chips!”

“You're obsessed,” Doyoung says. “You are just frustrated that he’s hot and veritably perfect, so you assume he must be a murderer. Simple as that.”

“You and your psychology degree can suck my toes,” Johnny says, looking out the window. “I know I heard someone scream. And I know Kun was alone in his apartment. It’s connect the dots, _Doie_.”

Doyoung scowls. “You didn't connect shit.”

“We’ll see,” Johnny says, leaning back in his chair. “We will see.”

…

The next day there’s a knock on the door sometime after noon, and Johnny stretches before answering it. He freezes as the door swings open.

“Hi,” Kun says, holding Johnny’s pan in front of him, the top covered with foil. “My mom taught me to never return a dish empty, so, um, here you go.”

Johnny stares at him, and then at the covered dish in his hands. He takes it gingerly, as if Kun is handing him an active bomb instead of a casserole dish.

“Thanks,” Johnny says, smiling. Kun has dark circles under his eyes and his hair is sticking up at the back, a little messed up. It’s actually kind of endearing, in a simple way.

_Johnny Suh, you professional idiot._

"Would you like to come in?" Johnny asks, his heart interfering with his very rational thoughts. "I have coffee, if you'd like some."

Kun smiles softly and Johnny's heart thumps like a drum. He runs his hand absentmindedly through his hair, mussing it even more. Johnny wants to pat down all the wayward patches of hair. Maybe give him a hug.

"I wish I could stay, but I have somewhere to be." He waves his hand towards the casserole dish. "I hope you like the food!"

Johnny waves back as Kun turns away from the door, sparing a single second to watch him walk down the hall and turn onto the stairs. He's cute, Johnny thinks tiredly. Too cute to be a heartless murderer.

Johnny closes the door and lifts the foil on the dish. Whatever's inside smells incredibly good.

Johnny thinks for a moment, putting the dish on the kitchen counter. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials Doyoung.

…

"For suspected human flesh, it sure does taste like braised pork."

Johnny huffs at Doyoung, who is carefully chewing on a piece of cooked meat. "You can never be too sure."

"Listen," Doyoung says, eating another spoonful. "He seems like a nice guy. He brings you food, isn’t noisy, and hasn't asked you if you want to buy drugs. He's already lightyears ahead of your last neighbor."

“At least I knew Jaehyun was a normal guy,” Johnny mumbles, looking out the window. “Even if he did have loud sex all the time. At least I knew he didn’t _kill_ people.”

“Kun _doesn't_ kill people. I think what you need to do is go outside, get some fresh air. Maybe it’ll clear your head.”

Johnny spends a split second more moping at the window before Doyoung slides a plate across the table. “Eat, you clown.”

He does. Doyoung was right: it does taste more like braised pork than human flesh. A small comfort.

…

_Google: how do i know if my neighbor is a serial killer?_

_Google: signs someone is a murderer_

_Google: how to make brownies from scratch_

_Google: braised pork recipes?????_

The window slams shut and the sound jerks Johnny back into reality. He sits up, phone sliding off his chest and hitting the floor with a dull thud.

The window is stubbornly shut—he forgot to prop it open with the phonebook. He gets off the coach and pushes it open, wedging the phone book under it. 

_Google: window repairmen in my area_

Someone walks past the window while Johnny is adjusting it. Kun gives him a smile and wave as he walks by, a baseball cap pulled over his eyes. Johnny waves back. It's 10 pm.

Johnny watches Kun go down the stairs and get in his car, the headlights flickering to life in the dark. Cat’s eyes. He lies on his couch and picks his phone up off the floor. 

…

“Just talk to him!” Doyoung says, throwing his hands up in the air. “Communication, Johnny! You know how many issues can be solved by communicating with others? This isn't a teen movie where you can sit there and complain and the problem disappears.”

“What if I communicate with him and he absolutely slaughters me?” Johnny huffs, sinking lower into the couch. He wonders if this is how groundhogs feel when they finally burrow themselves into the ground for hibernation: slightly humiliated, but ready to take a very long nap.

Doyoung throws his hands up in the air again and rolls his eyes. “I never thought I’d say this, but you are _definitely_ a shitty teenage girl.”

“Doie,” Johnny whines. “I am doing my best not to _die_.”

“Listen,” Doyoung says. “Maybe he just has a night job. Maybe he has some weird hobbies. None of these things make him a murderer. This isn't _Criminal Minds,_ Johnny.”

There’s a knock on the door and Johnny buries his face into a pillow. Doyoung answers the door, talking with the visitor.

“You have a package,” Doyoung says, looking at the small box in his hands. “Is this a delivery you should be getting?”

“I bought a window alarm,” Johnny says sullenly. “Since it's open so often.”

“You didn't seem concerned a couple weeks ago,” Doyoung says, placing the box on the table.

“Well, that was _before_ Kun moved in next door.”

…

Kun leaves at around 7 pm the next evening, the sun just beginning to tinge the sky pink as it sets. He gets in his car and drives away, headlights dark.

The Plan: Johnny is going to break into Kun’s apartment.

The Problem: Such an idea is very illegal.

Johnny slips out of his apartment at a little past 9, once he’s absolutely sure Kun isn't coming back. He doesn't have any bobby pins so he figures a paper clip will work just as well if he bends it into a thin, straight line.

He slides it into the lock and jiggles it a little. To be very honest, he isn't quite sure how this goes: is he supposed to be listening for something? Moving his hands a certain way?

He jams the paper clip upwards and it snaps cleanly in two, the piece in the lock _still in the lock._

“Oh, shit,” Johnny mumbles, trying to fish the piece of metal out of the door lock. It rattles around but is just too far back to be reached, and Johnny’s frustration soon turns to panic and eventually, guilt. He has effectively ruined the lock on Kun’s door.

Johnny turns around and sees a shadowy figure on the edge of the parking lot, just outside the reach of the streetlamp. Johny gasps, convinced for a whole second that Kun is about to march up the stairs and beat his ass, but then realizes: Kun’s car isn't in the parking lot. He isn't back. The stranger in the parking lot is just that, a stranger. One that seems to be watching very, very carefully.

Johnny slowly moves back to his door, looking over his shoulder. The shadow hasn't moved.

He opens the door and goes inside, and as soon as it shuts he rushes to the window. The shadow is gone.

…

Johnny wakes up at about 5 in the morning from a dream about thunder, heavy and omnipresent. He can still hear it, he thinks—thunder, a bang in the distance…

He hears a knock at the door, which sounds nothing like thunder but could if he was dead asleep and also out of his mind. He stumbles out of bed and to the door, feet cold against the floor.

“Who is it?” He says loudly, hand on the doorknob. The sun isn't even out.

“Kun!” His voice is muffled. “Your neighbor?”

Johnny unlocks the door and throws it open to see Kun, arms wrapped around himself, keys clutched in one shivering hand. 

“I’m so sorry to bother you so early,” he says. “But I can’t get into my apartment, my keys aren't working, I’m not sure what to do—”

“Woah,” Johnny says, mind rolling over like a very fat cat on a sunny afternoon. “Come inside first. It's a little chilly out.”

Kun steps inside, and the ridiculous cat living in Johnny’s skull proceeds to knock at least five emotions off the carefully labeled shelf in his brain. Among these emotions are Guilt (You Are The Reason Kun Is Locked Out), Fear (He’s Gonna Kill You), and Attraction (Kun Sexy Haha).

“What happened?” Johnny says, watching Kun glance around the room warily. 

“My keys won’t fit in the lock,” Kun says, sighing. “I really didn't want to bother you this early, but—”

“Don’t apologize,” Johnny says, knowing damn well he should be the one apologizing. “Do you want some coffee?”

Kun shakes his head. “The locksmith doesn't even open until 9,” he says. “Is it...is it okay if I crash here until then?”

Johnny nearly hits his toe on the corner of the wall as he whips around. “Oh yeah, of course!”

_Johnny Suh, murdered in his own apartment early this morning. Police are baffled…_

“Thanks,” Kun says, sitting on the couch. He hugs a tattered pillow to his chest, the fading print sporting at least one pizza sauce stain. He stifles a yawn behind his hand and Johnny feels guilty all over again. 

“Um, you look tired,” he says helpfully. “You can sleep, if you want. I won’t disturb you.”

“Thanks,” Kun says. “I appreciate it.”

Johnny nods and gives him a thumbs up as he lies down on the couch. Within minutes, Kun is fast asleep, breaths soft and slow. He seems so small in his oversized jacket, Johnny's pillow clutched to his chest, his hair falling over his face. For a second, Johnny wonders what it would be like to push the hair back from his face.

Johnny eats cereal as quietly as he can in his room. He clears his Google search history.

…

Kun calls the locksmith at 9 and they come at around 9:30. The culprit, it seems, is a small piece of metal jammed into the lock that prevented the key from going in. 

“That’s strange,” Kun says thoughtfully. Johnny looks at him, trying not to sweat buckets onto the floor. “I wonder where it could have come from.”

“Well,” Johnny says, voice a couple of octaves too high. “Maybe it was, um, the neighborhood kids.”

Kun raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Johnny says, pitching his voice a little lower and then drinking an entire cup of black coffee in one go. It makes him cough, and he gives Kun what he hopes is a reassuring smile as his stomach threatens to revolt.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” Kun says. “You really saved me there.”

Johnny mumbles a _hey, no problem_ into his now empty coffee cup. He imagines he can read his future in the dark dredges left at the bottom. Probably something like, _you will catch feelings for your neighbor that you may have been very weird toward for no reason._

Or perhaps his future is telling him to have pizza for lunch. Hm.

…

Doyoung’s laughter is so loud it creates a strong feedback beep in Johnny’s ear as his phone struggles to transmit the roar of what must be some type of long-extinct killer mammal. 

“Say it again,” Doyoung wheezes. “Say it again.”

Johnny groans. “I let Kun stay over because I broke his lock by trying to break in and prove he’s a serial killer.”

Doyoung laughs again, almost barking. “You clown,” he says between breaths. “What did I say? What did I tell you?”

“Well you say an awful lot,” Johnny grumbles. “Okay, I admit it. Maybe I was wrong.”

“I love the self awareness,” Doyoung says. “Thank you for finally realizing I am right.”

Johnny sighs. “I hate you.”

“I know! Talk to you later!”

He hangs up and Johnny looks out the window. The phonebook is a little rumpled from its repeated use as a glorified window prop, and the little alarm Johnny bought is still faithfully stuck to the frame. Comforting, he supposes.

He adjusts the phonebook and sees someone walking across the parking lot, face too far away to make out. 

…

Johnny is making what he has decided to call Apology Brownies. Unlike Illegal Snooping Brownies, Apology Brownies are made flavorful by all the guilt that one pours into them. That, and tons of chocolate. And maybe an extra egg. Marshmallows.

“Might as well open a bakery,” Johnny mumbles to himself, a true crime podcast playing dimly from his phone. The window is opened as far as it will go, the sun outside radiating just enough heat through the glass to make Johnny sweat. He really should get his air conditioning fixed.

He hasn’t seen Kun for a couple of days but sometimes he hears him: leaving in the evenings or coming home in the mornings. Doyoung was probably right—there’s nothing unusual about it. He probably just works late. There’s probably a reasonable explanation for the blood on his shirt, and the screaming man, and the suspected bones. He hasn’t found it yet, though. Hm.

Johnny pours the brownie batter into a pan and slides it into his oven, blowing a kiss to his latest culinary disaster.

…

“You know,” Johnny says, handing Kun the brownies. “I never did get your number.”

 _Real smooth,_ Johnny thinks. _Nice._

Kun raises an eyebrow. “Are the brownies your way of asking for my number?”

_Oh shit!_

“Um,” Johnny stammers, mouth hanging open. “Oh, no, I just thought that since we’re neighbors—”

Kun laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course I’ll give you my number,” he says. “We’re neighbors, after all.” He opens the door a little bit more. “There’s only one condition.”

Johnny thinks that if a rock fell on his head he wouldn’t even notice until Kun pointed it out to him. “Yeah?”

“Come eat these with me,” Kun says, smiling. “It's always nicer to share a treat with a friend.”

…

It isn’t _really_ a date, but that’s what Johnny triumphantly tells Doyoung. A date. With his neighbor. 

“I’m glad you finally screwed your head on properly,” Doyoung says over the phone. It's late, and there isn’t anything in the world that could persuade Doyoung to come to his apartment after 8 pm apart from the promise of significant monetary gain. “Did you ask him about all that ‘suspicious stuff’ you saw?”

Johnny thinks about the fond smile on Kun’s face as he lets Johnny blabber for almost 15 minutes about the latest episode of Law and Order. He had been wearing a light blue shirt, the same color as the sky, with a little cloud painted right over the heart. A cloud with a cartoon smile.

Johnny clears his throat. “I didn't get the chance,” he says. “And you’re right. There probably isn't anything to it, so there isn't any point in bothering him about it.”

There is a knock on his still open window and Johnny looks up to see Kun wave at him briefly, smiling. It seems he’s headed out for the night, and as Johnny waves back his heart thumps like a basketball against pavement.

“I’m gonna go to bed early,” Johnny says into the phone. “Goodnight.”

A sigh. “Goodnight.”

…

There’s a thud from the kitchen, small but loud enough to make him blink his eyes open and groan. _It must be the stupid pipes,_ he tells himself as he rolls over and pushes his face into his pillow. _I’ll check it tomorrow._

He is ready to return to the comforting void of sleep when he hears another thud, louder this time. It sounds almost like a footstep, heavy and unsure. Johnny’s eyes snap open.

Another thud. Johnny slips out of bed as quietly as he can, crouching.

Just when you think your neighbor isn’t a ruthless felon, life throws a rock at your head.

He goes to the door and places his ear against the wood. Yep, those are definitely footsteps: someone is walking around his kitchen at approximately 3 in the morning. He knows for a fact it isn't Doyoung, because a) Doyoung wouldn’t come over and b) if he did, he would be as loud as humanly possible, just to be antagonistic. No—whoever this is doesn't want Johnny to wake up. They don't want anyone to know they are there.

 _Okay,_ Johnny’s brain supplies. _If it's Kun, you have a fairly good chance at knocking him out. You're like, an entire foot taller._

_And if it isn’t Kun?_

_Lmao,_ Johnny’s brain says. _Good luck, I guess._

The footsteps pause and then resume, getting closer to the bedroom door. Johnny doesn't dare breathe or move or even think as the footsteps stop outside the door. 

_Lmao_ , Johnny thinks weakly, hands on the doorknob. There’s no movement from outside the door, and so Johnny goes into Backup Plan Number 1.

Backup Plan Number 1 goes a little like this:

Johnny opens the door as fast as he can, punching blindly at whoever is on the other side. His fist connects with something solid and he hears a grunt as the intruder stumbles backward. They’re too short to be Kun, Johnny realizes. The intruder is thin as a wraith, at least a foot shorter than him, his face obscured by a hat and mask. He wears all black.

“Who are you?” Johnny yells, the intruder running towards the window. It is still open: he forgot to close it before he went to sleep. The alarm is still stuck there, but since Johnny had left the window open like a fool it obviously didn’t do very much good. “Who are you!”

The intruder slides through the window like a trained gymnast.

Johnny sticks his head out of his window as if he can somehow follow. “Stop! Hey!”

The man looks at him, face dark. He runs the opposite direction, past Kun’s door and towards the alley on the other side.

“Wait!” Johnny yells. “Wait!”

Johnny grabs his phone and sticks his head out of the window again, dialing Doyoung’s number. It rings several times and Johnny sticks his head out the window again.

“What the fuck,” Doyoung says on the third ring, his voice bleary, “do you _want_?”

“Someone just broke into my apartment!” Johnny yells. He pulls his head back through the window, one hand on the ledge. The street lamp illuminates nothing out of the usual.

“Call the police then! Why are you calling _me?_ ”

“I don’t know!” The window ledge creaks. “For moral support I guess!”

“Idiot! Hang up and call the police!”

“Okay, fine!”

The window creaks again, but this time it comes down like a sledgehammer on the back of his hand. There’s an audible crack.

The scream Johnny lets out is worthy of a blockbuster horror film.He pries the window back open with his other hand and stumbles backwards, head spinning. His phone clatters to the floor. The alarm finally goes off, screeching into his dark apartment.

“Oh shit!” he yells, cradling his hand against his chest. “Fuck!”

If there was a dictionary containing every curse word in existence, Johnny could be credited as the sole author.

Doyoung’s voice comes through the phone, words tinny and unclear. Johnny grabs the alarm with his other hand, swatting at it until it shuts up. He grabs his phone off the ground and flings open the door. 

“—are you alright? What happened? Johnny Suh if you don’t respond to me right now I’ll—”

“My hand!” Johnny groans, voice hoarse from yelling. “The window closed on my hand! I think my fingers are broken!”

There is a beat of silence on the other end as if Doyoung is composing himself. “I'm coming over. Stay right there.”

Where the _hell_ would I go?!” Johnny yells, hand burning.

“Like I know! Wait for me!” A burst of feedback slams into Johnny’s ear and he cringes, pulling the phone away from his face.

“Hurry up!” Johnny yells back. The conversation feels eerily reminiscent of a middle school shouting match they might have had in the past. “I'm not waiting!”

Johnny hangs up and runs outside, locking the door behind him. The window is still halfway open thanks to Johnny prying it open with his free hand, and he kicks the windowsill. The windowpane slams down like a guillotine and he shudders. At least it wasn’t his head.

A door creaks open behind him and he almost swan dives into the parking lot. He’s going to get murdered. He is going to get _murdere d !_

“Johnny?” 

The voice is familiar, and when Johnny turns he sees Kun’s confused face peering at him through a crack in the doorway. He almost wants to cry with relief.

“Oh, hey,” Johnny says, smiling as if he was not going into Panic Mode mere moments ago. “How are you?”

Kun doesn’t smile back. “What's going on? I heard a lot of screaming.”

“Someone broke into my apartment.” Johnny gestures to the mostly dark parking lot with his good hand. “He ran somewhere through there.”

Kun’s eyes widen. “Are you sure you're okay? Did he hurt you?” He opens his door, motioning for Johnny to come in.

“No, but the window closed on my hand.” Johnny tries to say the words as calmly as possible but his hand feels like he has offered it to the local Little League team for batting practice. “It’s not too bad, though.”

“Let me look at it,” Kun says, flicking on a lamp. Johnny sits down at Kun’s kitchen table, marveling at how different everything looks in the half black, half orange glow of the lightbulb.

Kun takes his hand and carefully lifts it to the lamplight. Already, the skin is turning purple-black.

“Can you move your fingers?’ Kun asks. Johnny curls his hand around Kun’s once, gently. The motion makes his entire hand hurt but at least he can do it.

Kun asks him to rotate his wrist, back and forth. He asks him how bad it hurts if he touches here, touches here, touches here. Eventually, he goes to the fridge and pulls out a small square wrapped in cloth. He places it on the back of Johnny’s hand, the sudden cold shocking him. An ice pack.

“Nothing seems to be broken,” he says, holding Johnny’s hand in his and pressing the ice pack against his skin. His hand seems so small. “It's going to definitely bruise, though. It might be stiff.”

Johnny swallows. Kun’s hands are warm, even through the ice pack. 

“You really know your stuff,” Johnny manages. Kun gives him a small smile.

“I work at the 24-hour clinic down the street,” he says. “It’s kind of my job.”

Johnny stares at him. His stupid, stupid brain begins to connect the dots. No wonder Kun is gone all night, no wonder he comes back at odd hours in the morning. In fact, Kun looks as if he just recently got back from work—his jacket is still on. But still...

“I actually thought for a second that _you_ broke into my apartment,” he blurts out. His face floods with embarrassment. “Sorry.”

Kun frowns slightly. “Why would you think that?”

And damn, Johnny is most _definitely_ the biggest fool there is in this room, this apartment complex, this city, this entire world. 

“I, uh, may have thought you were a serial killer,” Johnny says, rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand. 

Kun’s eyes glitter, as if he is about to laugh. “What?”

“I just felt there was overwhelming evidence,” Johnny mumbles, looking at the ice pack. There’s a little blue whale printed on the back, the words BOO BOO BUDDY printed in a speech bubble near its smiling mouth. Do whales even _have_ teeth? 

Kun leans back in his chair a little. “Really.”

“Listen!” Johnny says, compelled to defend his paranoia-driven viewpoints. “You had a suitcase full of bones!”

“I let my friend help me pack and he thought it was funny to add some additional items,” Kun says calmly. “They were Halloween props, so I went and dumped them in his yard.”

“And that one night you were covered in blood?”

Kun frowns at him slightly. “When was that?”

“A couple weeks ago!”

“Oh,” Kun says slowly. “Some kid had a nosebleed at the clinic.”

The inner part of Johnny that insists on being correct just keeps going despite the fact that it is seconds away from plummeting off a cliff.

“And I heard a scream from your apartment once,” Johnny continues, like he’s an investigator for Buzzfeed Unsolved: True Crime and must test _every_ theory. “I thought you, uh, murdered a guy.”

“The only person I had over was my friend Ten,” Kun says, a smile ghosting over his lips. “He saw a spider in my bathroom and almost immediately left.”

“I didn't see him leave…”

“You probably just missed him. He went out the window for extra flair.” Kun stands and goes to the kitchen counter. “Would you like some water?”

“I’m sorry I thought you murdered people in your free time,” Johnny says, looking at the ground. “It made me a real shitty neighbor.”

Johnny leaves out the part about breaking his lock. He feels Kun’s relative benevolence might not extend to that particular incident.

“It’s not the weirdest case of mistaken identity I’ve dealt with,” Kun says, handing him a glass of water. “A friend of mine once thought I was a vampire. Almost staked me before I could disagree.”

Kun gives him a soft, kind smile, and he is compelled to get on his knees and grovel for forgiveness. Instead, Johnny just stares and swallows, tongue a lead weight in his mouth.

“You can stay here for the night if you have to,” Kun says. “Did you call the police?”

“Not yet,” Johnny says. “I might just wait until morning.”

Kun nods and goes to the couch, pulling an extra pillow and blanket out of an ottoman. He wordlessly places them on the couch. “If you need anything, let me know. Okay?”

Johnny can feel a big, fat tear welling up in the corner of his eye. “You’re too good to me. How can I ever repay you?”

Kun pauses and tilts his head. He readjusts the pillow. And then he goes back to the table, leans over, and kisses Johnny once on the cheek. The touch is soft, the softest stroke of a brush on porcelain. Johnny doesn’t even move—he lets his eyes flutter shut for just a moment, thinking.

Kun turns off the light. “Don’t be an idiot. Good night, Johnny.”

…

Doyoung shows up eventually, slamming his hand against Kun’s door like a madman until Johnny rolls off the couch and opens it. He freezes with his mouth open when he sees him.

“Kun is asleep,” Johnny says softly. “Don’t wake him.”

“You scared the shit out of me,” Doyoung hisses. “I came to ask Kun if he knew where you went, but it's apparent he does.”

“Thanks for checking on me,” Johnny whispers. “Love you, bro.”

Doyoung retches in disgust but his eyes betray his relief. “Are you okay? Do you need any…” he squints into the darkened room. “Assistance?”

Johnny grins. “No,” he says, heart easing at the memory of Kun’s lips on his cheek. “I think I’m good.”

…

  
  


“I’m _not_ doing your dishes anymore.”

“Doie, please,” Johnny whines. “My hand hurts.” He adds in a pout for good measure, which only leads to a spoon whizzing towards his head. 

“It's been a week,” Doyoung grumbles. “And your hand didn't seem to hurt yesterday when you were playing _Wii Bowling._ ”

“I was using my other hand!”

Doyoung glares at him, soap bubbles clinging to his wrist. “Why don’t you ask your _boyfriend_ to do this?”

 _Ah yes,_ Johnny thinks fondly. The fat cat in his brain stretches in content. _My boyfriend._

“He’s sleeping,” Johnny says. “I don’t wanna bother him.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes and continues washing the dishes, sighing.

…

Johnny rather likes being Kun’s boyfriend. He likes spending the sunsets together before Kun goes to work, the both of them sitting cross-legged in front of their apartment doors. He likes eating ice cream and watching movies with him, even though Kun’s taste leans more toward romance comedies than crime thrillers. He likes making Romance Brownies (the secret ingredient is not only Love but also strawberries!) and leaving them on Kun’s kitchen table after he goes to work. He _likes_ being Kun’s boyfriend. In fact, he _loves_ it.

Just like he loves Kun. Sigh.

Kun wants him to meet a friend of his, the ever-elusive Ten. Johnny only remembers glimpses from seeing him once, little dots of silver and artfully tousled hair. He knows he’s Kun’s best friend, eagerly wants to be liked by him. Maybe the romance comedies are changing his brainwaves.

When he finally meets Ten, the other man peers up at him with barely disguised suspicion. His black jeans are ripped, the sleeves of his white shirt cut off at the shoulder. He’s at least a foot shorter than him, thin as a wraith. 

Wait a minute…

Kun smiles as Johnny shakes Ten’s hand. “Johnny, this is Ten. Ten, this is Johnny.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ten says, smiling. His teeth are white, clean, his smile keen. 

Didn't Kun say something about Ten exiting through a window? That he had a flair for the dramatic?

Johnny’s knees wobble and he resists the urge to smack his own forehead. The thought that Ten broke into his apartment is unbelievable and ridiculous and _obviously not true._

Kun kisses him on the cheek. “I hope you two get along!” he says cheerfully, hair pushed back from his forehead, glasses perched on his nose. Johnny gives Ten a small, terse smile, warning bells echoing in his reptile brain.

It _can’t_ be the same guy that broke into his apartment, but all the details fit: the height, the shape of his shoulders, his thin waist.

 _No!_ Johnny thinks desperately. _I’m better than this! I’m better than theorizing that complete strangers are criminals!_

Johnny smiles at Ten, Kun beaming at the both of them out of the corner of his eye. He pulls him into a hug—friendly, trusting, safe.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he says. 

It can't be. It just _can’t_ be.


End file.
